After Being Freed
by Newtinmpls
Summary: What happens after you free slaves? Includes Falura Llervu, Ciralinde, Jadier Mannick (none of whom are in the Elder scrolls character list yet).
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: I cannot recall on whose page I read a lovely rant about 'don't write fiction about your character, write it about characters already present in the game'. I decided to explore that idea. This is where it led. Most of the characters will be pulled directly from the game. Occasional ones will be added in, usually to an existant house or family. After all, due to limitations of the software, Morrowind appeared less crowded than I picture it. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks and characters of my own creation.**

Falura carefully set the quill aside. the last page had seemed more difficult to copy. she had taken extra care, but the last line was a little shaky than Serjo Dralisi preferred. As she had been instructed, she leaned foward and gently blew across the ink so that it would dry without risking a blot.

She looked at the time candle, whic was almost gone. Only two colors remained. So this was the third hour of the evening. there was something that she was supposed to be doing. It was so hard to remember. She leaned foward again and slowly exhaled along the paper. The candle light flickered along the silver bracer she wore on her right forearm.

Slow footsteps approached the workroom. She and the pale-haired altmer girl seated next to her both looked up. Falura could see that her companion only had four completed pages, while she herself had five.

A short-haired muscular young breton lad knocked with one roughened fist against the side of the doorway. His arms and much of his upper body were covered in a partly dried, slightly crusted grey-greenish film.

Both Falura and her companion held up a hand to warn him off from entering the room. Falura struggled for a moment to remember. there was something she was supposed to say. Beside her, Ciralinde spoke dully.

"Jadier, you are not clean. You must not enter without cleaning off first." She pointed to a basin and cloth sitting on a stone shelf near the entrance to the room.

Yes, Falura remembered. That was it. Only script-servants were allowed in this room. The copy room had to be a clean room so that none of the pages would be damaged.

Jadier nodded. He used the cloth to swipe the worst of the film off of his torso, and cleaned off his arms and the bracer that adorned his right forearm. Then he turned to face the waiting girls. He spoke dully. "The muck is warmed. You are to eat now."

Falura and Ciralinde rose and followed the breton down a dank passageway to an area set aside for meals and rest. There was a young dunmer boy who was just finishing his meal. The two girls sat down. Falura ate her muck, carefull not to spill it. Dirty clothes or hands would ruin the work, and Derjo Dralisi would be angry. She finished it all. Waste was wrong.

As they finished their meal, Serjo Iirenoore swept gracefully into the room. She was silver-haired, like Ciralinde, but taller. She wore a gown of pattered browns and golds, and many rings and necklaces. She looked down at Falura. "How many pages?"

"Five, Serjo."

She turned her attention to Ciralinde. "And you?"

"Four, Serjo."

The sound of sharp footsteps heralded the arrival of Serjo Dralisi. She wore a gown of blue-green embroidered with silver thread that shimmered in the torchlight. Her midnight hair was swept up into a regal twist, held with shimmering blue-black combs. "Did I hear correctly? Only nine pages?"

Iirenoore considered. "Maybe we need to use the breton as well. After all, he's certainly harvested enough muck to feed all of them for the rest of the week."

Dralisi shook her head. "Not a wise choice. That's all we need, feed them week old muck and have the whole lot sicken and die again. A waste of time and money."

"For a few days then."

"Four." Dralisi considered. "Five at the most, and only if he does a good job of it. She turned to Jadier. "You, breton. You do know the aldmeri script, do you not?"

Jadier nodded slowly. "Yes, Serjo Drailisi."

She looked momentarily satisfied. Then a persistant ringing noise emanated from farther down the corridor.

"S'wit." Drailisi cursed. Then she caressed one of her rings.

A spiral of wind and dust congealed ahead of her into an eight foot tall bulky humanoid shape consisting of irregular bones and wet, raw looking muscle. As it solidified into a fully physical presence, it swung it's smallish head in her direction and made a wet grunting sound of inquiry.

"Go to the front doorway." She instructed it. "Kill what you find there."

Iirenoore was giving similar instructions to two translucent figures who floated near her about level with her head. They spun in the in the instructed direction.

Between the two moaning shades flew a slender silver arrow. Iirenoore dodged, but not enough and the arrow lodged in her side. There was a brief moment when she gasped in pain, and then the cavern seemed to explode in a painful wash of head and light.

The explosion knocked Falura off of the stool she was sitting on. She landed on the floor. Sharp pain shot through her head and her right elbow. She saw sparks and flashes of light. She could hear voices. Serjo Iirenoore, Serjo Drailisi and other lower pitched voices. The voices sounded angry. Falura knew that if Serjo Drailisi was angry, it meant someone had done something wrong. She didn't know what she had done wrong. So she waited for instruction.

She lay on the floor for a long time. She felt cold. The floor was cold.

"Are you okay?" The voice was a deep baritone. It was a much deeper voice than Serjo Iirenoore, Serjo Drailisi, or even the breton or dunmer boys that were in the caves.

Falura looked up and focused on a scaled face. Two rows of short horns decorated the individual's skull. The person's eyes were covered with a second set of transparent eye lids. She had never actually seen an argonian before.

"Is it that this one is wounded?" The argonian's accent was strange, but his dunmeri was clear enough.

Falura didn't understand what he wanted. "Serjo Drailisi has not yet instructed me." She said.

He tilted his head, and seemed to focus on the bracer on her right forearm. "Ah." The tone of voice sounded sad. "It is to be hoped that this one has escaped the damages accured to her kin."

Falura didn't know what to make of that. She was still waiting for Serjo Iirenoore or Serjo Drailisi. She noticed that the argonian was doing something with her bracer, but she didn't really pay attention.

And then she felt scared, and cold. And sick to her stomach. Her clothing was itchy. She was laying on a cold floor with an argonian bending over her. Tears came to her eyes, and she suddenly wanted to thow up, or run away. She turned to her side, and curled up, smothering a whimper with both hands to her mouth.

A cool clawed hand patted her gently on the back. "The hatchling will have some strong reactions."

Falura made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. Strong reactions indeed. She was shaking, both from the cold and from the realization of what had been done to her. She had been a slave here. She wasn't even sure for how long. Her memories were foggy, and she had some confused images of a harsh-faced dunmer doing something to "Remove those thoughts" that had hurt a great deal.

The argonian's gravelly voice continued. "Is the hatchling aware of where she is?"

Falura nodded. "I was here. I was," She smothered another sob. "He. I was sold. Devas Terano sold me."

With tears streaming down her face, she looked up at the argonian. "And a beast man rescued me." She covered her face with both hands.

The baritone voice corrected her. "This one would be a beast-woman, hatchling." After a moment, the argonian added. "This one is called An-Deesei."

Falura wiped her eyes, and extended her hand. "My name is Falura Llervu. I am in your debt, An-Deesei."

The argonian carefully looked her in one eye, and then the other. "This one thinks you will be well."

Falura suddenly remembered the comment An-Deesei had made about damages. Were the other captives harmed? She recalled an explosion of some kind, and while dunmer were difficult to injure with fire, Ciralinde or Jadier could have been badly hurt. Or the other dunmer. Her eyes widened. Her younger brother. "There were other slaves," She began. "My brother." Half-brother was more accurate, but still. Was he all right?

An-Deesei sighed softly. Behind her approached another argonian, this one with pale greenish silvery scales and curling horns at each temple. this one was so much more muscular than An-Deesei that Falura guessed him to be a male, but she thought the better of making that guess aloud.

"The troubled hatchling continues to speak of the forbidden lord." The newcomer made a warding gesture with one hand.

Falura looked up anxiously. "What do you mean, the troubled hatchling? Another dunmer? My half-brother Revas should be here. Is he all right?" She made an effort to calm herself. "I'm sorry, I have not met you yet. My name is Falura Llevas."

The newcomer inclined his head and extended a hand. "This one is known as Okaw, and if you wish, you shall be brought to the other hatchling."

Falura extended her hand. "Yes."

As Okaw assisted her to her feet, she added. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

She followed him through the half-familiar caves to the entrance. Standing outside was a slender dunmer wearing only a pair of badly worn pants that had once been of high quality. She hurried foward. "Revas?"

He turned to face her. He was smiling, but it was an odd almost beatific smile that did not suit him. He was facing her, but it seemed like he was looking through her, and not actually at her.

"Revas?" Cold began to settle in her stomach.

"The Sixth House is risen." He spoke in an almost musical cadence. "Worship your true lord."


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note: I can't count the number of times that in-game, I have freed various slaves. I usually don't see them again. What happens to them? And for that matter, what about those poor souls wandering around proclaiming the news of the sixth house - rather like some evil version of Jehovah's Witnesses (no offense intended, merely a comparison of strength of persistance)._

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks and characters of my own creation.**

Falura felt suddenly numb. She opened her mouth, but at first nothing came out. Finally she managed. "R-Revas?"

Before she could say anything else, a heavy muscular clawed hand settled onto her shoulder. In a hushed baritone, Okaw murmured. "The troubled hatchling may threaten violence if you should disrespect his service."

Revas looked past her, focusing a bit more on the argonian than he had on his sister, and the beatific smile turned sinister. "An animal approaches." He made a shooing gesture. "Such filth will be cleansed when our Lord awakens."

Falura stepped forward, placing herself directly in front of Okaw. "Revas, don't you know me? We are free now, finally free from those horrible necromancers."

Revas' expression changed back to his beatific smile. "Kinswoman," He came foward and took her right hand in both of his. "We must go to our lord and submit." He glanced upward, where the morning sun had barely crossed the horizon. For a moment his expression faded. He almost looked like he was listening to something, but Falura could hear nothing over the agitated beating of her heart.

"Come," He took a step toward the heart of the Ashlands.

Falura had the usual good sense of direction of one raised as a child in the Ashlands, and she was certain that he was somehow orienting himself toward the ghostgate. But that was supposed to keep the sixth house and it's fell creatures at bay, wasn't it?

Come to think of it, hadn't Dralisi mentioned something about difficulties in travel due to the increase in ash storms, and their aftereffects on the local fauna? As if the very thought had inspired a response, the wind seemed to pick up, and Falura caught the distinctive scent of a windstorm originating in the deep desert.

Revas loosed his left hand from her, and made a gesture of reverence to the winds. "A sign of favor." His voice was the simply joy of a child offered some scrib jelly. "Let us begin our journey and our transformation."

Falura gripped his hand tightly and pulled him in the direction of the cave. "No." She shook her head. To go out into an ash storm was to risk disease, and that was if they were lucky. Most likely they would simply be dessicated by the dry winds, especially as unprepared and poorly garbed as they were now.

Abruptly she was jerked back. Revas frowned at her susupciously. "You deny your true lord?"

Something in his tone told her that Okaw had been right when he warned of potential violence. So Falura decided to try an indirect approach. "Brother mine," She tugged at his hand. Unfortunatly he was as unmoving as stone. "We cannot set out on such an important journey without proper preparation." Again she tried to tug him closer to the cave. The wind was rising. "Come brother, would you visit the greatest of all ancestors without bringing an offering?"

He looked thoughtful, but still relatively unmoved.

However having said that to him, she got an idea. Closing her eyes for a moment, she called inwardly to her ancestors, pleading for one of them to help her. In her mind's eye, she could too easily imagine Revas heading out into the storm, and even if he somehow survived it, his fate after attempting to bypass the ghostgate would be too ill to be imagined.

Revas frowned as the wind picked up speed.

It took Falura a moment to realize that he was stepping back not from the storm itself, but from a translucent shape forming within it. The scent of fire petals and forging ebony teased Falura's nose as a slender figure took shape out of the reddish-grey mists of the wind. it was as if individual particles of dust slowed momentarily, and the collection as a whole revealed a graceful chiton-garbed figure who stood, helm under one arm, matching swords at her belt. Semi-braided hair tumbled gently in a breeze that bore no relation to the growing wind that Falura could feel.

While Falura had called for ancestral aid previously, it was usually her great-great-aunt Thedis, a powerful mage who generally advised Falura on matters magical. This was someone that she did not recall having been introduced to.

"Well done, sera." The spirit's voice was clear, strong and amused. "It's been a long time since any of my kin had the strength to call me all this way."

Falura bowed as well as she could without letting go of Revas. "I greet you muthsera. I am Falura, daughter of-"

"Yes, yes, I've not manifested very recently, but I'm hardly ignorant of the branchings of the family trauma shrub. You and your twin here." The ancestor cocked her head and considered Revas. "Ah. Now I see why you needed help." Absently she added. "To complete the formalities, I am Rilms, formerly of Suran."

Falura took a moment to absorb that, and then said in a shocked whisper. "Saint Rilms?" Of course that couldn't be right. After all, St. Rilms was known to have given her shoes away and beome a holy beggar. Spirits tended to dress according to their preferences in life, and there was no way that St. Rilms would have been wearing not only shoes, but chitin boots and full armor.

Revas sneered. "Rilms, servant of the blasphemous trio? My true Lord will leave nothing of you but ash and bone."


End file.
